There was no doubt about it - I’d become sick.

It began from the moment I woke up. Pain. A dull, pressurized pain in my gut. As my mind shook off the haze of slumber - well, as much as it could - I gained the ability to better describe the pain.

It was as if all the organs around the area had detached from their ligaments, letting them flop around freely. After that, they'd all been filled with small cold stones, dried up and shrunk. And finally, on top of all that, their muscles were still inexplicably contracting, causing the organs to ceaselessly squirm around inside me, pressing and grinding against each other and the inner walls of my body.

Basically, I’d become a living, breathing ore processing plant.

This naturally made life very difficult for me. As the fatigue that had struck me yesterday had only strengthened, I found myself almost completely unable to walk. My limbs simply wouldn’t stay straight beneath me.

Luckily, I could still crawl around. I could use the bathroom and drink from the tap. I was on my way back from one such visit when I remembered water wasn’t the only sustenance humans needed, but the carousel inside me strongly disagreed. I knew going without food had a good chance of making things worse, but once I looked down the stairs, I decided that a little starvation was preferable over a broken neck. And so, defeated, I slithered back into my room, buried myself under my blanket and tried my best not to think.

Time passed. Whether it was minutes or hours is still unknown to me. I tossed and turned, unable to find a comfortable position. Slumber kept circling me like a seagull stalking a poorly-guarded burger, but it refused to dive. The light from my window flashed my face over and over again… and then, my savior arrived.

I heard a voice from my door and turned towards it. In the frame stood a humanoid creature shorter than a man, but taller than a child. Its head was covered in wavy brown hair. Some sort of sasquatch…?

I tried recalling the words it had spoken, but I remembered only some sounds. I stared at the being with miserable eyes, pleading with it to explain itself again. Fortunately, it did.

“Are you feeling alright?”

Now that I’d actually paid attention, I recognized the speaker immediately and felt quite stupid. It was Abe. Obviously.

‘No, I feel terrible,’ I attempted to say, but what came out was more like the mating call of a stag.

Fortunately, he got the gist. “Do you want me to bring you anything? Food, water?”

Food had probably become a smart investment by then, and if I could get my water through some other way than channeling the spirit of a slug, all the better. I gave the closest thing I could to a nod along with another horny-stag-roar.

“I’ll get you a sandwich and a glass of water,” Abe said. As he withdrew, I promised myself I’d remember this on the day of ascension. I’d repay him then with a quick, painless death. Or perhaps by turning him into some kind of bird. Something that flies has a much better chance of fleeing the Helixians.

Abe returned some time later with his promised sandwich. I chowed it down as fast as I could, which wasn’t very. I thanked Abe with another groan as he left the glass on my nightstand and left. I could tell he would come back again later in the day, and I was happy. Happy that Abe would be there. A rare feeling.

I actually managed to get some more sleep after that, although dreamless. It was a shame as staring at the same room for so long had made me hungry for variety, but at least it meant no nightmares.

What woke me up was another visit from Abe. It went roughly the same as the first, though I also asked how long it had been since the previous visit - a request that took plenty of effort and patience from both parties to be successfully delivered. It had been four hours, but Abe had also checked on me somewhere in the middle quietly enough not to wake me. I accepted the sandwich gladly, as the previous one hadn't made me any sicker. Though it's not like it made me any less fatigued, either.

Visit three was special. It began the same way as the others, but once the food delivery had been negotiated, Abe spoke new words. I didn't catch all of it the first time around, but once the words 'psych appointment' registered, my mind suddenly sharpened. I recognized my pain and exhaustion as ailments of my body, distinct from my consciousness. The fog in my mind thinned considerably, and for the first time in a while, I felt truly awake.

"Psych appointment?" I repeated, to the great surprise of both Abe and myself. The stag had learned to speak.

"Yeah," he half-said, half-gasped. "I had rescheduled it to be two days from now, but I wanted to ask if you thought I should cancel that and reschedule again."

It must have been the illness that made me say no.

In retrospect, there was every reason to cancel the appointment. I had been very sick for almost a full day and logically I should have anticipated it to continue. There was no pressure to have that appointment as illness was a completely acceptable reason to skip it.

But there I was, drunk on the sudden clarity of my mind. Feeling as if I was getting better by the second. That two days from then, I'd be in the best shape of my life.

And the worst part of it all?

I was right.

"Red?"

I look to my left to meet Abe's curious eyes. I guess I must have gotten lost in thought.

“Sorry. Just thinking,” I say and give a reassuring smile --

Oh, right, but he can’t see it! He can’t see it because I’m wearing a mask! Because it’s the considerate thing to do when going out in public after being sick. Good thing my dear brother was there to remind me of this before we departed. Good thing I didn’t want to bother arguing…

“Alright,” says Abe, and we walk underneath the overgrown entrance of the mental health clinic and through the front door. We head for the receptionist… who’s the same as last time. Joy. Well, better just get it over with.

I reach for my knife and just barely notice the receptionist flinch. I almost smile, but his reaction’s not enough to make up for having to give up my weapon again.

I detach the scabbard from my belt and place it on the desk. “You know what to do with it.”

He smiles with his mouth, but not his eyes. “Thank you for your cooperation,” he says as he takes the knife. I nod and silently wish for an accident to befall him later in the day.

I pocket my hands and begin heading for the stairs. “You can leave now,” I say to Abe. “I’ve wasted enough of your time.”

“O-oh, no, it’s nothing,” he chuckles. “As long as you get help.”

I stop.

What did he say?

I turn around, but he’s hurrying to the exit already, avoiding my gaze as he stutters his goodbyes. “Yeah, um, hope it goes well. See you later!”

He slips away before I can think of the right way to word the question on my mind. All I’m left with is a tense silence as the receptionist no doubt struggles to restrain himself from some kind of remark. I decide to start climbing the stairs before either of us ends up losing control.

Get help. Get help for what? How have I appeared to be in need of help? I’m perfectly fine. Well, okay, I’m not, but Abe shouldn’t know that. He should only see me as kind of a grump, not as the bloodthirsty predator I actually am…

Hold on. Now I remember something the psych said last time. That Abe had told her I’d seemed ‘unhappy’ and ‘on-edge’, or some other words to that effect. And he mentioned my ‘violent tendencies’, which is bullshit because he only knows about that through word of mouth at school. Is this all he needs as an excuse to force me to get my head checked? Speculation and rumors? That doesn’t sound like Abe. He can’t have made this decision on his own. Someone else must have --

Of course. It all makes sense. This is the work of that puppy crush of his, Arisu. That’s why Abe could bring her uncle Sou along to make sure I didn’t skip the appointment last time. She has her fingerprints all over this. She’s convinced herself I’m some kind of mental case to explain my occasional odd behavior and spread that belief to Abe, and now she’s gotten him to pressure me into psychoanalysis. She must feel so smart. So altruistic, too. The psycho will get his treatment and the rest of society will be safe from him.

Well, unfortunately for her, I feel the best I have in weeks. I’m going to utterly charm that shrink with my normalcy and return with clean papers. And Arisu will have to admit she was wrong. Though I suppose she technically isn’t. I pretty much am a psycho. It’s just that she shouldn’t assume.

Having reached hallway E on the third floor, I pick a chair and sit down. It’s the one furthest away from the table. There’s really no way that spider is still there, but… well, it doesn’t matter. It’s my ass and I get to choose where I put it.

Since the hallway’s empty, I can safely remove my mask without anyone scolding me about it. I tuck it in my pocket, and it’s like it was never there. Like I’d just conveniently forgotten it. Shame about all the people I’ll infect now. I hope their number is high.

A minute or few later, Dr Marsh’s door opens, and the psych in question steps through. She calls me in, I get up and enter, all as predicted - though her clothes are different from last time. They’re still black and white, though, and those red glasses and scarf haven’t gone anywhere. She knows her signature.

Once we’ve seated ourselves on the green armchairs, she opens her notebook and asks what is sure to be the first of many questions. “So, I heard you’d gotten sick. Feel better now?”

“Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t,” I say with a smile. Stupid bitch.

“That’s good...” She writes something in her notes. I don’t understand her priorities.

She straightens her white wool sweater, then looks back at me. “So… your brother tells me that you live with him and your stepfather, but that your mother usually stays elsewhere. Is that true?”

Oh, Gods. I hope I won’t have to talk about my mother here. I don’t know if I can force myself to lie that we’re on good terms. “Yes, that’s true.”

“Your brother also told me that it’s because your relationship with your mother is strained.”

Gods. Is there anything that little snitch didn’t tell her? Now I have to go all damage control mode. “I mean, ‘strained’ is a harsh word. We just have our differences.”

“Enough for her to live elsewhere?”

“It’s not because of that. It’s also closer to her work. It’s more convenient that way.”

“How often do you see her?”

A few times a year, which is already too often. “Every now and then.”

“Every week, every few weeks, every month?”

“Sporadically. But ‘every few weeks’ is closest.”

“Do you wish you could see her more often?”

Fuck no. “Not really. I mean, even if we don’t see that often, I know that she still loves me.” Almost threw up in my mouth. Hope she’ll buy it.

“I see.” She writes something down in her notes. Was that really important? Whatever. It doesn’t matter.

As I shift my position for comfort, I realize I’ve crossed my arms and legs. Should they remain this way? It can appear hostile. But it also shows defensiveness. Are more people comfortable or uncomfortable in a situation like this? Should I untangle my limbs only later on to give the illusion that I’ve warmed up to her?

Gods, people are so much harder when their guard is up. Maybe I shouldn’t overthink this. Maybe that in itself will make me seem unnatural.

Dr Marsh raises her gaze from her notes, and that's my cue to listen up.

“Your brother also tells me you have a cat. Is that correct?”

I see the animal in my mind’s eye. Gods. This might possibly be even worse a subject. “Yes, that’s correct,” I say. “Though it’s my brother’s cat if anything. My brother and my stepdad owned…” Okay, you have permission to say ‘him’ now. You need to sound like you respect it enough to call it a him. “They owned him before my mom and my stepdad met.”

“You seem to have grown quite close with the cat, though,” she says. “According to your brother, at least.”

“Well, everyone likes cats.” Untrue. “And the cat --” No, say its name. “Minty is a very friendly cat, too. He never scratches or bites. And he loves cuddles.”

Saying that makes me miss the cuddles. I punch myself internally until the feeling stops.

“It sounds like you two are close.”

It does? Sure, let’s go with that. I mean, it used to be true. “I guess we are.”

“Are you the one who primarily takes care of him?”

“Yes. I feed him, tend to his litterbox, play with him. And I love doing it.” I almost smirk at how convincingly that came out, but stop myself, showing a warm smile instead.

“Alright.” She writes something down. Is she just writing down everything? Maybe she thinks that’ll help her understand me better. Maybe she’s going to try and tell me later to hug my cat -- the animal -- more if I feel down. What great advice. Definitely worth real money.

She looks up at me again. "Let’s move on. Would you describe yourself as impulsive?"

Oh, we're back into those form-questions again, it seems. Boring, but safe. "No, not really."

"Are you irritated easily?"

"I wouldn't say so."

"Have you ever stolen anything?"

Stolen? “Where did this come from?”

“It’s just a standard question. Don’t think much of it.”

I doubt it, but this’ll all be over faster if I just go along with it. “Well, no. I haven’t stolen anything.” Probably have, but the less I think about it, the less I’m technically lying.

"Did you have many friends at school?"

"A couple." That's standard, right?

"Do you still spend time with them?"

"...Not as much, but yes, occasionally."

“What do you do together?”

Uh. What do teenage boys do together? I’ve never really been out with any friends. Maybe a vague answer will suffice. “Uh, just hang out.”

“Do you have fun?”

“Yeah, for sure.”

She nods. "Alright. How about relationships? Have you ever been in one?"

What, are you interested? "No." I see no need to lie. While society loves to see people jam themselves into relationships - there’s an entire holiday to applaud those that give in to their hormones - statistics are still on my side. There are plenty of guys my age that are interested in more important matters or simply unlucky when it comes to the dating game. I think. I hope I’m right.

She withdraws to her notes again. I take the time to let my eyes wander around the room, refresh my brain a little bit. It's not terribly interesting, but --

Something moved.

In the little dark crevice at the corner of the ceiling, something moved.

Was it a fly? Or was it --

Long, pointy limbs stick out, and the ugliest of critters crawls onto the wall. Yep, a spider. Gods… is this building especially alluring to them somehow?

Whatever. As long as it stays all the way over there, it doesn’t matter.

“Alright, Mr Akai,” starts the psych, drawing my attention back to her face. “I must be frank. I do not believe you’re being honest.”

What?

No, don’t stop to think, respond, respond!

I reach an awkward hand behind my ear and scratch. “Uh…” I chuckle. ”Sorry, what do you mean?”

"I have a knack for lie detection," she says, leaning back, "but I'm not making this accusation purely off a hunch. I know you haven't been speaking the truth."

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

I grasp the arm of my chair a little tighter. "How so?"

"I had a long chat with your brother in preparation for this appointment. He let me know about a lot of things - especially how you’ve been avoiding your cat for weeks."

My heart jumps.

She knew. She knew and she led me on regardless, only to uncover it now. And it's… it's exactly what she did last time, too! Why didn't I see it? Why didn't I --

No, don't dwell on that now. You need to fix this.

I sit up straighter. "Well, I mean… it is true that I've been more distant to him lately, but that's because I’d kind of been spoiling him before. I wanted him to know some discipline. You know how it is." Please know how it is.

“Is that what it is? Your brother said that you snapped back at him every time he asked about it. That it’s his cat and he should take care of him if he was so worried.”

Fuck. Of course he said that. Or did he say that? Did she come up with it herself? She could just be setting me up for another pitfall. How am I supposed to respond to --

The spider in the corner moves. It’s coming down the wall. And behind it, from the crevice it crawled out of, new legs emerge --

No, the spider isn’t important! Focus!

“Mr Akai?”

Fuck! You’re not helping!

My glare makes her recoil. Shit. No, I can't let her see she's getting to me. Look down at the floor and calm down. You haven’t said anything incriminating yet. You can still make it through this.

"I'm sorry I have to pry into private matters like this," she continues, "but your close ones believe it's relevant to your mental wellbeing, and that means it's relevant to a thorough analysis."

‘Sorry’. Bullshit, you’re not sorry. This is a game for you. Catch the patient lying, force them to reveal their secrets. Ring up the police and reap the glory as they cart away the nutjob. Oh, what a hero you are!

“I would appreciate it if you were honest with me from now on. You don’t have to share everything, only what you’re comfortable with - but please, don’t try to give a false impression. I’m going to be able to tell anyway.”

She speaks these words in a comforting voice, but she must know that the implication is anything but. Nevertheless, I give a defeated nod. It’s not like I have a choice.

“Now, what is it that’s really causing you to act that way towards your cat?”

Gods. If she really has a knack for lie detection, what am I supposed to say? I can’t possibly tell her that I serve a god that wants me to sever all my emotional attachments to other living beings.

I guess I just have to try. Make up something. Anything that isn’t as incriminating as the truth.

“It’s my brother,” I say. “I’m acting this way to get back at my brother.”

“What has your brother done?”

I take a deep breath. Okay. What has he done? Why would I dislike him? I mean, I dislike him because he’s a stupid little sheep. But I can’t get into that. I can’t let her know about my ideology. If I said that the strong should rule and the weak should die or serve, she’ll think I’m some kind of extremist and that I need to be stopped before I act on my ideals. I mean, that’s exactly what I’m gonna do, too. But she can’t find out.

Maybe… maybe if I’m already saying that a familial relationship of mine isn’t all sunshine and rainbows, I can tell the truth about my mother, too. Maybe she can be the root cause of my behavior.

“He always takes the side of my mom,” I say.

“What side is that?”

I realize my hand has formed into a fist. I don’t bother to pry it open. It can help sell this. “That I’m a bad son.”

“‘Bad son’ how?”

Gods. Okay. You’re gonna have to spill even more to make this work.

“Because I get into trouble. Got into trouble, anyway, when I was still at school.”

“In what way?”

“Fights.”

“Who were you fighting?”

“My bullies.” Gods, it sounds pathetic.

“You were bullied?”

“Yes.”

She writes something down. “And your mother was upset with you for fighting back?”

I nod. ”She didn’t believe I was bullied.”

“Didn’t believe you? Why?”

I sigh. “Because I used to be the one that bullied others. She thought… I was just fighting people for the hell of it and making up a reason in order to trick people into thinking it was justified.”

“But you weren’t?”

I clench my jaw. “Of course I wasn’t. I learned to leave people alone, and most people learned to leave me alone. But the bullies… thought it was fun to get me riled up. To insult me. Harass me. Call me… you know, what assholes like to call gay people. Even if they didn’t actually know that about me.”

“Does your family know that about you?”

“I think my brother does,” I say. “I’ve probably mentioned it at some point. My mom… no. I don’t want to tell her in case she’ll be a bitch about that, too.” Oh. Maybe I shouldn’t call a woman a bitch in front of another woman. “With my stepdad, it wouldn’t ever have come up. Maybe my brother’s told him. I don’t know.”

“Are the bullies the reason you left high school?”

I nod. “I didn’t want to stick around long enough for it to escalate into something worse.” I didn’t want to get arrested.

She takes the time to write something down again. I take the time to take a deep breath. It’s never fun to think about the assholes at school.

“So, to reiterate,” she says, “you’re neglecting your cat to get back at your brother for taking the side of your mother when she judges your behavior.”

“Yeah.” That sounds stupid, but whatever. It’s the hole I’ve dug for myself.

“As a psychiatrist, it isn’t my place to judge, but as a cat owner, I don’t think you should punish your cat for something that your brother did.”

I know that’s stupid, but I’m supposed to stick to my story. “It’s not like I’m torturing him.”

“Cats require stimulation for their mental health. It’d be like someone taking away your favorite thing.”

I know that too. “I guess.”

“And it can’t feel good to see your dear animal companion so down in the dumps, can it?”

I can hear the animal’s distressed meowing. No. You don’t care. You don’t care. “No. It doesn’t feel good. I just thought… I just thought it wouldn’t be that big of a deal in the end.”

“If your own moral compass is saying it’s a bad thing to do… shouldn’t you listen?”

Okay. I can act out a realization. She’ll think she’ll have done something positive and maybe press me less afterwards. “I… guess,” I breathe out. “Yeah. I just… thought I was being too sensitive. But if you think it’s a bad thing to do… I think I’ll take better care of him again.”

It.

Right. “It.”

I freeze.

The blood drains from my face.

She didn’t hear that, did she? Just in case she did, I should...

“I mean him.”

...No. That was the worst thing I could have possibly done.

I nail my gaze to the floor and seal my lips tight before any more reckless, life-ruining words can get out, but for the split second I could still see the psych’s face, I knew it was already too late.

“What was that?” she asks, but it’s clear from her tone that she'd heard each word.

Clinging to whatever control I have left, I give no answer.

But what’s she gonna think about that? It's only gonna confirm her suspicions. Instead, I should pretend like I never said that at all. No - that’s suspicious, too. Shit!

“Did you refer to him… as an ‘it’ right now?”

She’s going for it. She’s going for it. Oh Gods.

As much as I dread seeing her expression, I have to check. I give her a glance. I see confusion, but more strongly, intrigue.

But if that wasn’t enough, there’s something else - something on her shoulder. Something black and many-legged. I check the back wall -- empty. No Spider One, no Spider Two. It’s fair to assume the one on the psych’s shoulder is one of the two - but where’s the other one? Is it near me? Is it --

“Mr Akai?”

She forces my eyes back to hers and, consequently, my attention back to the conversation. Right. I can’t stay quiet. I have to say something. I have to at least try. Maybe stall for time first?

“Sorry, what?” I say in the most casual way I currently can.

She leans back. She’s not repeating the question. Did she decide it was just a silly slip of the tongue with no underlying cause? Could I be that lucky?

“You’re very nervous all of a sudden,” she says. “Are you perhaps… afraid of being diagnosed with something?”

Is that common? It might be common. I doubt normal people like being branded as abnormal. Yes, I may have a shot with this approach. If what I say is partly true, perhaps she won’t sense any lie.

That confidence lets me relax my posture a bit. “Well… yes,” I say, clasping my hands together. “I wouldn’t want you getting any wrong ideas about me.”

“Oh, I am a trained psychiatrist. You can trust my judgment.”

Trust you to get me locked up so you can clean the blemish off your perfect society. Sure, I’ve killed. Sure, I’ve tortured. I am a criminal. But am I really expected to believe you’d just let me walk out here totally free had I done none of it and only had the urge? That you’d stick to human rights with someone you brand inhuman?

She shifts in her seat. “I want you to know, Mr Akai, that a diagnosis is nothing to be afraid of. On the contrary, it’s better to be diagnosed with something than to remain unaware. That way both you and the people around you can understand you better.”

Oh, shut up. I already know everything I need to know about myself, and HE knows the rest. No one else needs to know a goddamn thing.

At least she’s focusing on convincing me of this now. Maybe if I keep her busy with it, our time will run out before she can get to actual conclusions, and I’ll be able to come up with a million and one reasons why I can’t show up by the next time she wants to see me.

Once again, I shield myself with the truth as I ask my next question. “But won’t being diagnosed with something make people… want to avoid me?”

“They don’t need to know if you don’t want them to,” she says. “All of this is confidential. Not even your brother or your parents can find out if you don’t want them to, as long as there’s no pressing reason they should for their or your own safety.”

Hm. Better not let her find out how often I’ve dreamed of killing my mother, then.

“What would those reasons be?” I ask, my expression unchanging in its concern - but on the inside, I lean back and lift up my feet with a smirk on my face. As long as I’m asking her questions, she can’t ask hers. I’ve found the path out of the labyrinth, and the light of freedom’s coming ever closer.

Even the spider’s retreating. It crawls onto her back, out of sight. Excellent - it’s very likely going to be squished the next time the psych leans back again.

“If you told me, for example, that you frequently thought about hurting other people or yourself and expressed having difficulty fighting back these urges.”

“I see.”

“Do you have urges like this?”

I --

Do not answer directly. Conceal your true feelings.

“That’s quite a question,” I laugh. “Do you see me as someone that would?”

"Don't take it personally," she says. "This, too, is a rather common question. For safety reasons, you see."

"I see." I suppose.

"But I will admit…"

What? What?

"Your brother's mention of those 'violent tendencies' did partly motivate the question."

Shit. Right. She did say Abe had told her something like that before. What did I answer then? Surely I must have dismissed it - but if she's bringing it up again, she must have not believed me. Knowing now how she can detect lies - likely not perfectly, but to some extent - it makes sense. And she's already caught me lying more than once now.

“Was he simply talking about the fact that you got into fights at school?”

“I think so.” I mean, Abe couldn’t possibly know about the other kinds of violence I’ve committed.

“Did your friends ever back you up when you were bullied?” she asks.

Friends? Hasn’t she figured it out yet? “Uh…” Should I try to keep up that lie? Would it make me seem less like a threat to society?

“Or do you not actually have friends?”

No, she knows. She was probably just testing me again. “No. Sorry.”

"There's no shame in admitting you had no friends, you know…" she says.

“I guess not.”

"But I also don't get any shame from you."

Huh?

She leans back now. "You don’t feel shame when you lie, do you?"

Eye contact burns too much to hold. I drop my gaze to the floor, but that heat still radiates.

How deep is she going to dig? Will she not be satisfied before all trace of deception is gone? Before all that I am is on record? Before she's flayed me and counted each one of my veins?

Silence holds as I have no words left to say. Seconds later, she sighs.

"Perhaps it's my turn to be honest."

What?

My eyes leap back to her face, and her stare no longer blazes like before - but the relief doesn't last long as I see something that freezes me instead.

I see the thin black lines on her ear and my hopeful side says they must be stray hairs, but then they move and do it too quickly - they're legs, legs of a spider. The spider.

It's dragging itself across the ear, across her skin, but she shows no signs of noticing. Can she not feel it? Can she not hear it?

"Since you seem very concerned with what I think about you..."

Oh Gods, she's talking, I better pay attention.

"...I'll tell you what my current theory is."

Theory? About me? Is she -- is she giving the diagnosis, right now?

"The way you lie so naturally and without shame, how your brother talks of past violent tendencies, how you're possibly trying to reduce your cat to an it in your mind…"

I try to follow what she's saying, I try, I try, but the spider keeps crawling, now moving onto her cheek. How can she not notice it, why doesn't she notice it, why doesn't she flail and scream? Is the spider so light that it can't be felt? It has to be. But that means…

That means there could be one on me right now and I wouldn't know it.

I swipe across my face, then down my arms, then along my thighs, all with lightning speed to fling off any spiders, real or imagined. I only freeze once I remember where I am.

I check the psych's face. Startled, surprised. Explain this, quickly. What's the sanest reason?

Right, I guess it's pretty close to the real one.

"I-I'm sorry," I get out. "Felt a spider."

A painful second of silence follows - but it's dulled the moment she responds. "Oh, alright."

So that was normal. Normal enough, at least. I exhale in relief.

"So back to what I was saying…"

What was she talking about again?

Oh, wait. Oh shit.

Her eyes capture mine once more - and I flinch at the spider uncomfortably close to her eyeball.

"Those traits seem rather antisocial."

Antisocial. Anti, social. The opposite of social. Social means friendly, outgoing. The opposite is a misanthropic loner.

In other words, me.

She has found me out.

No, no, she hasn't! She hasn't found out about my bloodlust, my murders. She doesn't know the full story. Right now, all she can assume is that I prefer to spend my time alone. Nothing more.

"Do you feel that word describes you?"

How should I answer? No, I'll respond with a question again! Stall until I come up with another plan!

"H-how is that word d-defined?" No, don't stutter! She'll see through you!

"The most formal definition, I believe, talks of behavior sharply deviating from social norms…"

Her words become muddled again as the spider heads for her eye. My breathing halts. She can't possibly ignore what's to come.

"...and a persistent disregard for the rights and feelings of others. Informally, though…"

The spider reaches the corner. Its legs play with her eyelashes. She has to feel it. She has to feel it. She has to feel it so I can feel it. So I can know there's nothing on me when I feel nothing instead of Gods know how many little legs are creeping on me, my skin… but there it is, lifting and lowering its legs undisturbed, just at the edge of her eye. If it goes any further --

"...people call a person like that a sociopath."

It steps onto the white of her eye. Squish.

"That's enough!"

The words, the roar, burst out before I could think. My muscles threw me off this chair to stand upright. My lungs, frozen before, now hyperventilate.

The psych stares at me with the shock I expected her to get from the spider - but that spider's now nowhere to be seen.

It fell off. It fell off, or it crawled inside her eye --

No! I claw at my scalp. Don't think that, it's not even possible, so don't torture yourself with the thought --

"Mr Akai?"

Her voice is calm. She shouldn't be calm. She's putting on an act because she's afraid of me. But she wasn't afraid of me before, no, she toyed with me. She's calm for another reason. She knows something I don't. She's pleased with how things have turned out. As if she --

"Did you plan this?" I spit. She flinches, she planned it. "You did. You-you trained them somehow to --"

Then she knows where that second one is, and she has some plan for that one, too, it must be on me --

I shake my whole body. I ruffle my hair, nails scraping the scalp to blood. Get off. Get off. Get off.

But wait! If she can command them, she can command them off me. I just have to threaten her, yes! I jerk up my head and turn to her, take a step --

She’s terrified.

She’s halfway off the chair, frozen in an awkward crouch. The angle of her position suggests she was heading for the door. To escape.

Me.

Because I’m acting crazy.

Slowly, I stand up straight. The room is either silent or the pounding of my heart just makes me deaf to all else.

Okay. Okay. What now? I-I just suggested she was somehow controlling spiders to fuck with me. That makes no sense. Why did I even think that? Am I losing my mind?

No, no, I’m just freaking out because I hate spiders so much. I admit it, I’m arachnophobic. Could she buy that as a justification? If she can tell when I’m lying, she should be able to tell when I’m being honest, too, right?

I let out a discomforted chuckle, unsure how much of it was natural and how much was feigned to enhance my act. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I assure the psych with hand motions and all, and I can see her settling back down on the chair, the fear in her eyes easing up. “I just really, really don’t like spiders and there’s a couple in here and they’re stressing me out, especially since they’re making it so hard for me to act normal which I need to do because in actuality, I’m --”

No.

No, what did you just say?

“You’re what?” asks the psych. She’s on edge, still, but her pen hand is trembling, trembling with triumph, I’m sure. I just all but admitted I’m a psycho. This was the final piece to the puzzle. I can no longer salvage this. I’m ruined.

No.

I can still make sure it doesn’t get any worse!

I sprint to the door, startling the shrink, but she doesn’t try to stop me. I grab the handle - and stop for a split second to reassure myself there are no spiders on it - and wrench the door open, pushing through to the other side.

“Mr Akai, please --”

“No!”

I throw the door shut and slam my back against it to keep her from coming out. Heartbeat bombarding my ears, I ruffle my hair again, ruffle to get rid of all real and imaginary arachnids. My body convulses with violent shudders. I shake myself like a dog after a dip in a pond. Only instead of water, it’s spiders. So many spiders.

I run to the end of the hallway, turn the corner, then run and turn another corner, then stop. There are nothing but hallways here. Nothing but white, no windows, no doors. I really should have bumped into something familiar by now if I was going the right way… should I go back to where I started and try again?

Oh Gods. Things just keep going wrong. I’m lost, I’m hyperventilating, and there’s probably people searching the building to detain me at this very moment. I just wanna get out. I wanna get out of here as soon as possible, before anything else goes wr-

Oh Gods no.